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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25507936">The Swan of Elsinore</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evonlich/pseuds/Evonlich'>Evonlich</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hamlet - All Media Types, Hamlet - Shakespeare</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, Wittenberg</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 05:20:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,291</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25507936</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evonlich/pseuds/Evonlich</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Horatio fell into a real fear that his prince would indulge himself in the tranquility and never awake. The rich and exhausted soul, the soul of a noble prince, would take the opportunity to dispense off the heavy and earthly flesh and soar into the lofty heaven.<br/>It's about Horatio's Hamlet, the melancholy young prince who at last got rid of the earth and soared into the sky.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hamlet &amp; Horatio, Hamlet/Horatio (Hamlet)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Swan of Elsinore</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is my first serious work of Hamraio. Hope you enjoy it!<br/>The couple is so adorable. Wish all would love them.<br/>btw English is my second language. So if you find anything awkward in the text please let me know. Just do me a favor.<br/>If you have any comments or criticism you r the most sincerely welcome.<br/>Enjoy and have a good day.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hamlet was a fair rose growing in the lush garden. In the peaceful heavenly chants, with reckless abandon he bloomed. People of Dane looked up to him, admired him, and exclaimed, "what a rose of the fair state." Horatio, too, had looked up to him from afar, until Hamlet had given him an honor that he had never imagined and dragged him into his royal life. Horatio wanted to be his loyal servant ever, but his lord was sincerely willing to call him a friend and exchange the name with him. Within, Horatio had a view of the ancient Republic.<br/>
In Wittenberg, at Elsinore, at every field the noble prince had ever stepped in, Hamlet raised his glass high and let the liquid run down his wrists and neck. Or, as a winged bird, he spread his graceful arms and shoulder blades, with his hands lifted, as if he could command the tame wind to lift him straight into his own blue sky.<br/>
Horatio knew not what metaphor he should apply to describe his lord. The eagle was far too fierce; Hamlet was not as ambitious and aggressive as his father the king. The white dove was far too delicate; the soft feathers could adorn the wreath of Lady Ophelia, but not the armors of princes. It was the swan that Horatio thought of. The outstretched arms and fingertips of his prince were just like the wings of the swan, strong, but not yet full-fledged. He thought of a trip to the low countries. At the edge of a marsh, looking at a pair of white swans, Hamlet hung his head and let out a sigh, for no reason, but of Hamlet.<br/>
Hamlet was not happy. Horatio knew it well. Hamlet hardly liked alcohol. He even fretted that it would make his nation traduced and taxed of others. He raised his glass out of habit and duty, not for pleasure. Though he was bold and unrestrained, how infinite was the universe but how narrow were Elinore, Wittenberg or even his whole kingdom, too narrow, for his rich and liberate soul. His princely body was bound by his limited country. Even if he had the passion of a king of the infinite space, he could not escape from the shell and prison.<br/>
He spent an amount of time on friends. Between toasts, he grinned at everyone, not necessarily friendly, but certainly sincere. He gave full vent to his abundant and superfluous emotions, as if he were urgent to overstretch himself in order to give the restless soul a temporary rest. Horatio stood right beside him, watched him quietly and, if necessary, held out his arms to the young prince and ground the body, which was damp from the excess of light and heat he emitting, before his collapse. Horatio was his harbor, his only home when he travelled abroad. Then, he snuggled up to Horatio sentimentally and murmured softly,<br/>
"I pray thee, my good Horatio, give me a rest. I am too fatigued."<br/>
He then slept soundly and safely, leaving Horatio alone to watch dutifully for him. Gazing at the prince's tranquil slumber, Horatio fell into a real fear that his prince would indulge himself in the tranquility and never awake. The rich and exhausted soul, the soul of a noble prince, would take the opportunity to dispense off the heavy and earthly flesh and soar into the lofty heaven.<br/>
The mourning cast a dark shadow over Hamlet's handsome face. His melancholy was even worse. Horatio was in great terror that Hamlet’s spirit would be darkened by such a blow and that it would sink in the depths of the sea between The Continent of Europe and Denmark. However, the shadow of death covered everything, except his last inch of shelter. Having lost everything, Hamlet still retained a home. All, who had loved him, revered him, or praised him, were lamenting or cursing, that the prince had lost his reason and madness had taken possession of his soul. But good Horatio never thought so. Hamlet was only more melancholic, more somber, but not more mature yet. His burdens of hatred weighed him down; his passions remained, burning within his chest like a flame but having no direction to vent. But still, Hamlet was the sweet, noble and beloved prince for Horatio. Hamlet smiled at Horatio in the most sincere and gentle way; he shared all of his knowledge, feelings, expectations and plans with Horatio with full affection and unreserved confidence.<br/>
"My dear Horatio," he held Horatio's hands, "my honorable friend, I wish we could return to our Wittenberg. I am too fatigued." All Horatio could do was kissing the prince's pale cold forehead, "My good lord, I pray thee, bear it with me a little longer. All shall pass."<br/>
Horatio always wanted to do something. As the prince's attendant, friend, foil and rapier, he must always do something. "Here, sweet lord, at your service." said Horatio again and again, holding firmly the sword which the scholar had not yet got used to. But as Horatio always grounded his arms behind his lord, Hamlet kept his arm in front of Horatio to stop him from charging and fighting for him like a soldier. Hamlet grinned and laughed at everyone, but shook his head only to Horatio. "My good Horatio," said he, with pressing tone, "I need more thine eyes, lips and tongue. Gaze at me. I ask thee for no more."<br/>
Obediently, Horatio followed his orders and stood beside him quietly as usual. Without urging or cowering, he supported his lord with all his body and soul. So, he watched his prince dance and laugh against the stampeding crowd; he watched his prince walk to the queen's bedchamber; he watched his prince wave at him from the sailing ship; he watched his prince hold the skull musing as if he were about to chew his own bones; he watched his prince jump into the newly dug grave; and at last, he watched his prince, with a heavy heart, generous to the stage and battlefield of the duel.<br/>
The trumpets and cannons went to the heavens and earth. He saluted the king with his sword, but kept his eyes fixed on his prince. It reminded him of his initial memory, which was hearing similar deafening salutes from the castle of Elsinore. He inquired the origin of the sounds and was told, "Our beautiful queen of Denmark has just delivered the hope and the rose for our fair state." The rose was standing before him, pretty but thin. Winds from nowhere swelled out the wide sleeves of his shirts, making him look as if he were flapping his wings and ready to fly out of the confined stone castle. He just compared himself to a sparrow whose life and death had been held in the hand of fate. But Horatio never believed that violence Hamlet reporting against himself. His prince was always as graceful as a swan. Now, Hamlet gazed wistfully into Horatio's eyes, stood erect and resolutely plunged into the battlefield he had never entered.<br/>
Horatio was proud of his prince, no less proud than that her Majesty was when she regarded her grown-up son. The prince was so nimble and mighty that he seemed to be able to leap into the sky without noticing. Like a victorious young general, he started to wear a cheerful and trusting smile. Such expression had been common in Wittenberg but had become so rare since he return to Elsinore. Horatio was glad about the victory for his lord. After the third round, Hamlet smiled, "My good friend, when I win the wager, go with me to the low hills behind the castle for its scenic beauty. And then we shall hold our orgies for celebrations." As if the spirits of the gay prince had returned to him with the muscle contraction and relaxation of his movements. An inexhaustible supply of power and emotions was accumulating in his chest, needed to be released, making the delicate soul restless again. Horatio wiped Hamlet's face. Sweet blessing was just about to pour out from Horatio's lips, and blood stained the prince's arms.<br/>
Horatio was always standing behind Hamlet. His arms were always ready to reach and ground the prince's body, which was damp from the excess of light and heat he emitting. His heart was always ready to accept and soothe the rich, sincere, noble, melancholy and witched soul. Horatio was not the sharp charging spear; he was the soft and generous earth. Hamlet knew it very well. So, when Hamlet could support himself no longer, he naturally fell back, and allowed Horatio to catch his over-burnt body and soul.<br/>
"Horatio, I die." Hamlet rested his head in Horatio's arm, as he had rested within the embrace thousands of times. Hamlet's hand clung to Horatio's cheek. But minutes earlier, those cold, sweaty hands had been warm and soft. He had grasped Horatio's hands warmly, declaring he was well alive. The over-burnt soul, before having time to dissipate its last light and heat, was broken and cracked, and slowly cooled into lifeless dust. But the prince was not willing to leave so quickly, as he had been unwilling to rest. Snatching Horatio's cup with his last effort, his fingers, stroking Horatio's cheek, were soaked with the deadly liquid. With a soul of an antique Roman, Horatio almost kissed his hands. His drooping lashes and imperceptible smile seemed to come from the underworld. His lips, once full and rosy, quivered and smiled, as if he were murmuring, "I pray thee, my good Horatio, give me a rest. I am too fatigued."<br/>
Horatio had been through analogous nightmares too many times. One of Morae, probably formidable Atropos herself, had been repeating to Horatio, that the modest and mediocre world could never accommodate the intensity and sublimity of the prince, and that he was doomed to die tragically young. The prince did not appreciate tears, but his own eyes were often filled with them. Horatio himself did not appreciate tears, and he was confident that, through all the buffets and rewards of Fortune's, he had already been able to gather his feelings within the limits of moderation. But at that time, he lost the control of himself. The tears burst out and mingled with the poison.<br/>
"I die, Horatio." Horatio knew that his prince was seizing his last moments to bid him farewell. Going gentle into the good night, Hamlet turned back his head every step he took, as if he needed neither to look to death nor to grope around the undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveler returned. The last breath of life touched Horatio's breast, while he held his breath, unwilling to disturb the last breath of wind surrounding his prince. It reminded him of Wittenberg. Once, Hamlet raised his arms high and let the fresh mountain breeze, bearing the steam of grass and trees, pour into his shirt. He overstretched his elegant body, spreading his arms and shoulder blades. He ran, leapt, yelled and laughed on the cliff. He was so lightsome and gay that as if he were about to leap out of the generous earth into his own sky. Horatio never dared to disturb him, for the fear that he might miss his step and fall of the cliff, or fly into the sky. Horatio only smiled as the young prince, deeply touched by Hamlet's joy and fullness. Then, the mountains echoed the mirth of the couple of young scholars.<br/>
But Horatio knew it very well that the passions of the flesh could only hold Hamlet in the bosom of the earth for a moment. The soul of the prince's was too intensive and too passionate for the earthly body. The earth could not hold and protect him forever. He was destined to soar into the sky.<br/>
All he did was remaining by Hamlet's side, without any judgements; it was not his place to have any judgements, not yet at least. As nights after passion they spent together, Horatio held tightly the beautiful body and waited for the predestined moment. At that moment, the rich and exhausted soul, the soul of a noble prince, would take the opportunity to dispense off the heavy and earthly flesh and soar into the lofty heaven.<br/>
At that moment, as always, Horatio, the man gentle and earnest as the earth, would not follow or disturb. At least at that moment, when Hamlet had just relieved himself of the heavy burdens of his flesh and soul, and delivered the last mission to his good Horatio, Horatio would not disturb or follow him recklessly. Whereupon, the only thing he could do as last, was kissing his prince's pale cold forehead.<br/>
“Here, sweet lord, all has passed. “<br/>
He failed to hold his tears. The warlike noise could not break through the silence of death. The confined, isolated, cold and empty castle of Elsinore echoed his own sobs.<br/>
But the prince was right; his Horatio was not a slave of passion. Ultimately, in tears, he managed to refresh his reasons. He gazed at the tranquil slumber of his dear prince again, as if he were watching for him dutifully. He saw his prince looking wistfully back from the abyss of death to him, clasping him with his dying breath; and then, swiftly he left the harsh world behind, and plunged into the felicity and tranquility of the heaven. All felicity and affections went with Hamlet, but all histories and songs would go into eternity through Horatio. They had the dying voice for each other. Whereupon, once more Horatio kissed the beautiful young prince.<br/>
"Good night, sweet prince,<br/>
And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I indulge myself in Hamratio so much that I am planning to write another similar piece like The field of Wittenberg, Horatio in Hamlet's eyes. Who knows? I probably will do it.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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